Hourglass
by AcaigaWrites
Summary: During those long hours of confinement in Temple's chamber, Washington and Carolina have much to discuss and little time. Currently a one-shot, but may be continued. Rated T for infrequent language.


A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry I've been so inactive, I broke my laptop (for your own good, NEVER STAND ON ONE, IT'S NOT A GOOD IDEA) and had no way to post what I've been hoarding, but I finally got it fixed! This was a little difficult, probably because Washington and Carolina's personalities feel a little complex and different to what I'm used to, but hey-ho, I'll just shut up now - Acaiga

Hourglass

"Damnit."

She'd felt this feeling before.

A feeling of helplessness that just wouldn't recede no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, or find a solution. She could remember the first time she had felt it; she'd been a child, possibly five or six. Old enough to understand that people didn't live forever, and some died sooner than others. She knew what her mother did, and the danger she placed herself in because of it. Allison Church was constantly on the move and endangering herself with the military. She was shipped here, there and everywhere, and every time she left Carolina would have to hold back the tears, because she was a big girl, and like her mother said, big girls didn't cry.

She was helpless to stop her mother from leaving. Every time she begged her mother to stay would prove to be in vain. Her father would stand with her in the doorway, a supportive hand resting on her shoulder as she was left with an absence in her day-to-day life once again. Every day she would await news, whether good or bad, regarding Allison, pestering her father for information he couldn't give.

The second time was when she was eight, perhaps nine.

Military officials had arrived at the house, and as her father exchanged talk with them she hid in the living room doorway, attempting to eavesdrop but only being able to make out a few words. From time to time, she heard _Allison_ or _Church_ , or _mission_. Carolina watched her father's shoulders sag, heard the conversation fall silent as her father absorbed whatever he'd been told. When the officals left, he slammed the door in a fit of rage, rage unlike any kind Carolina had seen before, and for the first time, she was afraid of her father.

The news of her mother's demise had broken something within Carolina.

It wasn't until the sun had long gone down and her father was too absorbed in either his tears, alcohol or work that she allowed herself one chance to grieve. She cried once, and never cried again. She had been helpless to stop her mother's death.

There were many, _many_ times that she felt this way. The next, she felt it when comrades in the Freelancer programme were killed. After that, it was when she found her first truly unbeatable opponent known as Agent Texas. Her father, or rather, the Director, certainly favoured Texas over his own daughter, that much was certain, and Carolina's only remaining family slipped away from her. And she couldn't stop it.

And finally, after those numerous instances, she found herself in one yet again. Trapped in the very armour that had saved their hides countless times, approaching a seemingly inevitable downfall. Surrounded by their dead friends, unmoving and exhausted. Time was ticking like sand in an hourglass, and the need for hydration was quickly setting in, and they knew it wouldn't be long before -

"Damnit!" Carolina repeated, attempting to struggle against the restraining plates of metal that encased her.

"Give it up, Carolina," Washington said softly from beside her. His voice sounded almost hollow, as if he'd lost any semblance of hope. "We can't get out. There's no point in trying."

"They'll find us. They have to. They will," Carolina responded. It was unlike her, sounded distressed. The way she spoke sounded as if she were trying to convince herself rather than Wash.

" _Carolina_ ," Wash said, speaking a little louder this time. "We have to think rationally. The Reds and Blues still think that that bastard Temple is an ally. It could be days, even weeks before they even begin to suspect otherwise, and by then..."

"Don't." Carolina snapped, shaking her head a little within the confines of her helmet. "Please, Wash. We can't die like this, not after everything that we've lived through."

"I... yeah. I suppose you're right." Wash relented, his voice softening again. "Sorry."

She laughed shortly and without humour at him. He was apologising for being honest? "Why would you be sorry? You're just speaking the truth while I'm in total denial. It's fine."

"No, it's... I'm sorry for getting us into this mess. It was my idea, with the trackers and stuff."

"You didn't know this would happen, Wash. If anything, then it was both of our faults. We weren't careful enough."

Wash hummed in agreement. They fell into a comfortable silence, unspeaking until the lack of a distraction became too much.

"Wash?"

"Hm?"

"Did you mean what you said? Back at Illinois's place, on the beach."

"Any specific part, or..?"

"You said, "it's never too late to start over again". Now that I think about it... I'm not so sure you're right." Carolina told him, her voice growing quieter.

"Why would I be wrong? What you did back in Freelancer... you didn't know what you were doing. We were all blind, naïve. Trust me, Lina, we have time."

In response, Carolina made a small noise in acknowledgement. Some distant part of her found joy in the use of her name's abbreviation. Every time there was a small gap in the conversation, it felt as though the ever-present stench of decay from the corpses around them seemed to become more potent than before. She closed her eyes, though she knew it wouldn't help. If one of your senses became blocked, then the others would strengthen.

"Assuming we get out of this alive," Wash said, "there's a lot I want to do. I've got a few things I need to sort out."

"Such as?"

"Well..." Wash trailed off. "I did kind of ruin the moment back at the beach. I'd like to - I mean, if you want to - pick up where we left off? If that's okay with... you?"

She saw and heard it then; a flicker of the old Washington. Young, impressionable, nervous. Carolina laughed a little, this time genuine and unforced. "That's what you want? If we survive, that'll be what's on your mind?"

"Apparently so." Wash said. Even though she couldn't see his face, she knew he was smiling that sheepish smile he would often wear back in Freelancer.

"In that case," Carolina replied, "then I'd like that. If by "where we left off" you mean the hand-holding and not the removal of my suit -"

"Lina," Wash groaned, and she laughed. "You know full well I didn't mean it like that."

"But on a serious note," Carolina said, sobering quickly, "if you really do believe that we have a chance at starting over, then... I'd like to start again with you, Wash. We could leave the military entirely, distance ourselves from everything."

"Sounds good to me. Though we might have to take the Reds and Blues with us. Leaving them on their own seems somewhat risky, don't you think?" He paused for a moment, as if realising something, then spoke again. "We'll get out of here, Lina. Just you wait and see."

"Yeah, can't do much else."

"Fair point," Wash agreed.

And just like that, the conversation was dropped. Carolina's limited vision swept across the amount of room she could see, trying and failing to find the suits of her dead friends; Alaska, Maryland, Illinois, all of those poor, dead Agents. She remembered Illinois, particularly the way he would sway on his feet with an arm around York as they hollered drunken songs made almost unrecognisable due to just how out-of-tune they were. She remembered how he'd merrily tell them about his plans for the future, about what he wanted most in life, and back then Carolina had deemed it foolish. To her, the only thing she could see in her future was project Freelancer, because back then that was all that mattered to her.

"I used to have a crush on you, back in the Project," Wash said, then cleared his throat, breaking Carolina from her thoughts. He always did that whenever he was nervous or anxious about something. She blinked, surprised by his bluntness.

"Seriously? I thought you and Agent Connecticut were a thing."

"Me and Connie?" Wash snorted. "Nah. We were close friends, sure, but we were too different. She wasn't a very trusting person, so I doubt she would've let me close anyway."

"That must've been tough then." Carolina said, reminiscently.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there was York, and you guys were pretty close, right?"

"Yeah, well," Wash hesitated as if he were considering his next choice of words. "He was into you, you were into him, and I didn't want to get in the way. York was a good guy, y'know? He deserved you. I spoke to him, back when Maine was in surgery. He was talking about some kind of existential shit, about whether we were doing the right thing."

"He did always want to be the hero," Carolina said, amusement lilting her tone. However it quickly receded as she spoke her next words. "But... I have to ask. Why the hell would you like me? Didn't you find me bossy, or at least a bit demanding?"

"I guess so," Wash responded honestly. "But I didn't really mind that. All I saw was determination, strength, talent, y'know? And I admired you for it. I wasn't the strongest, or the smartest, but that's what I see when I look at you. That, and you're really pretty, protective, understanding. You can see why I like you -"

"Speaking in the present are we, Wash?" Carolina said, smirking although she knew he couldn't see it. As he began to stutter something unintelligible, she spoke again. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"W-well I-I... I, uh... um..." Beneath his helmet, his face had gone red. Back in the days of the Project, Wash would be the easiest of all the Agents to tease. It was York who had discovered this, when he managed to sneak a peak into Wash's locker in the room adjacent to the training room. All the cat pictures he was hoarding and the skateboard he'd kept from his teenage years had been exposed for all to see. Every time the cat pictures were mentioned, or someone teasingly _meowed_ as he walked past, his face would burn until his ears turned red and metaphorical steam rose from them. The comment of a 'Human Blowtorch' had arisen once or twice in the weeks following.

"If there's something you need to tell me, I suggest you do it," Carolina said. "There's a chance we'll die here remember?"

His stuttering ceased, and he fell silent. After several seconds, he sighed. "Fine. I'm an idiot. I like you, Carolina. A lot. I didn't really want to say anything because there is literally no way to phrase it without sounding like a love-sick schoolboy -"

"I like you too, Wash," Carolina said, and the invisible weight she hadn't realised had been resting on her chest lifted.

Perhaps, were they to get out alive, there _would_ be a life after. After the fighting, after the military, after the armor and guns and death. It was wishful thinking, but then again; no-one got anywhere without hope.


End file.
